


The Witching Hour

by orphan_account



Category: Midnighters - Scott Westerfeld, Supernatural
Genre: Fusion, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of spn/midnighters fusion drabbles. The team fights darklings. Math is done. Sam says how they feel. A girl finds herself in a scaly situation. And much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading. If you have any feedback, it's welcomed. xxx  
> warning for violence and (monster) blood and such, and for some creepy spider and snake action, if that squicks you out.  
> These are in no chronological order.  
> If I've screwed up something on the pronouns/portrayal, please tell me, and I'll try to fix it!  
> <3

They have quite a nice collection of weapons. I mean, every hunter has one, but you don't survive a couple apocalypses without picking up a few nice things. They can't use guns-no fire in the blue time means no spark to light the gunpowder-but they have a big pile of other weapons in the Impala's trunk.

Like Ruby's knife-or Sam's knife, now. It's made of steel, and has anti-darkling runes carved on it, along with 13-pointed stars, that altogether pack a good punch against darklings.

Right now, they're tracking a darkling across St. Louis in the very beginning of the secret hour. They waited until the clock ticked from 11:59 to midnight, and blue came rushing in, and they went on a hunt, like they always do.

It's not hard to find a hunt at midnight. True midnight, not the one most humans see. The darklings hide, sure-they don't attack very often, because they're clever enough not to kill so much that their prey is wiped out. But having an angel on your side tends to attract some attention.

So they have to use their time well. You see, this one hour is the only hour when darklings can be found. It's the secret hour because it passes by the average human as a second, maybe two. Humans experience 24 hours, darklings only one, and hunters like Dean and Sam, 25, because they can walk in the secret hour.

Darklings created this blue hour to hide, but it's Dean's job to find them and kill them, because they have a penchant for killing innocent people.

Sam rubs a hand over their face. "You awake, man?" Dean teases. "Yeah," Sam grumbles. "I've been trying to find this thing 25-7."

Dean winces. "We just gotta gank it, Sammy, but then it's sweet dreams for a while." he grins.

It is empty and still as they drive by in the Impala, and every minute or so a flying slither bumps against the window, chirping. There are a few more slithers on the ground, trying to keep up with the Impala.

They're annoying as hell, and sometimes they can bite through the Impala's tires, so Dean eyes them warily as he accelerates on the quiet, blue road.

Cas is in the backseat, keeping the car going. The flame bringer just has to only touch the car, and it allows them to start the engine, start the small spark and drive. He doesn't need guns, though. Plenty of mojo to go around.

Dean reaches into the duffel bag in the back, opens the window and throws a handful of steel bolts at the flying, snake-like thing. It chirps even louder and falls back, the bolts making blue sparks as they burn the slither's skin.

The darkling isn't far. They can see the huge cat a dozen feet or so in front of the car, but it's fast, so they're just barely keeping up with it. It dashes across the blue ground, eyes flashing dark indigo.

"We're getting near the city. This one has already killed, so we must kill it soon," Cas says.

Sam closes their eyes. "It's just showing off. Kitty wants to play." No matter how many times Sam reminds him there are plenty of other mindcasters like them, it still sort of creeps Dean out, how Sam can sense darklings; can feel the emotions of people in the blue time.

Dean had hoped Sam was normal when he found out that he was a polymath. But then he found out that Sam had darkling blood in them. Not enough to make them a halfling, but those few drops gave them painful visions, all along with being a mindcaster.

So Sam is not the average hunter, the blood inside them enhancing their mindcaster powers. Sam can sense the darkling in front of them, can feel the sick amusement it radiates at making them chase it.

"We only have half an hour left. Fuck this," Dean says. He pulls the car over with a screech and gets out. "Dean," Sam says, but they get out too and stand by him. Cas gets out as well, blue eyes turned even more intense in the blue time.

The darkling stops running and turns. It starts walking quietly towards them, paws silent on the ground. "It's hungry," Sam says. They wince.

"It's sending me pictures of you. Dead."

Dean grits his teeth. He hates when the fuckers mess with his brother. "You can handle this?" Dean asks, hand on his knife. "Yeah, I'll be fine," Sam says. They pull their knife and whisper, "Indescribable." It glows blue at its name, and the darkling recoils, hissing. The thirteen-letter word burns into it, and Sam feels its anger.

The sound raises the hair on Dean's neck. He grips his knife tighter. You see, the best part of his favorite knife, and the rest of the steel they have, is that each piece has a name. A thirteen letter name, to be specific, and thirteen is a number that repels darklings. The names give an extra punch to the steel that burns the creatures.

\---

"You're gonna need something big for this one. Knives and bolts ain't gonna cut it, not with a darkling this powerful," Bobby tells Sam over the phone.

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll be careful. Thanks, Bobby," Sam says, hanging up.

"The hubcaps are steel, right?" Sam asks cautiously.

"Yeah, why d'you...oh, no. Sam, no, not my baby!"

Sam gives him an apologetic look, but they're already prying one of the front ones off.

\---

He runs through thirteen letter words in his head quickly. The name comes to Dean instantly. He grins and holds the knife to his lips and whispers, "Featherheaded." Sam rolls their eyes as they dodge darkling claws.

This one's terribly human-shaped. A halfling, probably, but past saving. It lashes out at them with blue-black claws that used to be hands.

Dean passes the knife to Cas as he runs up to the glaring cat, scoring a wound in its chest with his own knife that bleeds blue. It hisses as the steel burns it, and Cas takes that moment to shove Featherheaded in its heart.

  
Flashes of light ripple through it as it falls heavily. Dean wonders who they used to be, when they were human.

...

"Cas, come on. We're gonna miss it." Dean guides him outside the motel. He's tired from memorizing 13 letter words in Enochian, as if English and Latin wasn't enough. Still, the angelic words will be even fouler to darklings.

"You've seen midnight almost every night for years," Cas protests, but he watches the horizon with Dean. "Yeah, 'n I'll never get tired of it," Dean says with a grin. He counts down the seconds until a blue line at the edge of the black sky turns into rich blue touching everything.

The water in the fountain outside the motel freezes, droplets poised. The people in the motel rooms freeze in their beds or in front of their TVs, eyes wide open.

Sam steps out as well, grinning. It’s not them against the world, for this one hour, when the world’s frozen.

...

"You're a prophet of the lord," Castiel tells Chuck. "Seer, actually," Dean corrects.

They don't see Chuck again. But they do find another seer: Kevin Tran. Dean thought he was a polymath by the look of his grades, but the kid was actually just that smart.

Besides, the kid can read the lore well, and they need him now that all this word of god crap is going on.

Bobby and Ellen are gone, so he's the only seer they've got. And it looks like they're in for a hell of a fight.

...

There's no midnight in purgatory. Everything is dark and black, not blue. But Dean's still a polymath, damn it, and he's Dean Winchester, so he kills his way to Cas.

Cas is reluctant to trust Benny. "Look, if Benny's tellin' the truth here, we've only got a while until his bitey friends catch up with us. 182 minutes until night comes, Cas, and you can bet that they want to get their claws on us," he says. Cas walks with them, but with his shoulders slumped.

He doesn't laugh at his jokes. That's fine. Dean will drag him to the way out if he has to.

...

Dean gets back. Cas doesn't. It's been 13 months, or 524,160 hours. He can go smaller than that. But the only thing he can do now is find Sam.

...

Dean eyes the tattoo pen warily. "You better not mess it up," he warns Sam. He closes his eyes as Sam begins to ink a thirteen pointed star above his heart.

Later, Sam says thirteen letter words into the speaker of the dusty prison Henrikson trapped them in. The darklings hiss and leave the bodies of the halflings among gunshots and thrown holy water.

And they get back to the motel, and they think that they won.

...

"Hey, Cas, d'you think we could make a devil's trap big enough to trap it?"

"Yes, if we found enough steel. But I don't know whether or not it would hold it," Cas says.

”If we could test it somehow..." Cas says. Dean and Sam exchange grins. "We have a couple of ideas."

Dean uses steel guitar strings to trace out a thirteen pointed devil's trap on the cold asphalt. Then Cas listens until he hears a slither, hiding behind the diner's dumpster, and grabs it before it wriggles away. It chirps at him and bites his fist, but its teeth bounce right off. It chirps again indignantly.

"Shut up," Dean tells it firmly.

…

  
"What do you know about darklings?" Dean asks. Sam is asleep in the backseat, safe under the black sky, since it's past midnight and its dangerous blues.

"First, god made the darklings, or as Job called them, Leviathan. But they were evil and destructive creatures, so he sentenced them to live in purgatory forever. Then he made the angels.

Lucifer first, then the rest of the archangels, and then the seraphim and cupids and other angels, like me.

The angels ruled above, so he created Man to rule below, in the dust, and from the dust. Lucifer rebelled. Earth was flooded. I’m sure you know the rest."

Dean nods, waiting for more.

"And then the darklings created an hour for themselves, to hide from man and their fire. Humans tortured in hell turned to demons, and many other monsters like wendigos were created. Gods and monsters walked everywhere. Angels tried to destroy Earth. And man fought them all."

Dean would be damned if Cas didn’t sound a little proud when he said that.  
...  
When the demon killed Mary, it opened a sliver of midnight in Kansas, so that it could freeze the world so nobody would notice the fire.

It was the first time John had been exposed to the blue time, and he would later find that he was a seer.

He fought back with everything he could. Now he could walk in the blue time-he had a chance to kill the son of a bitch that killed his wife.

He found out later that Mary was a mindcaster. A year and endless dead ends later, he came back from a hunt to find Sam and Dean up at midnight, grumbling about how the TV wouldn't work.

The looks on their faces were nothing short of crushed when John explained how there was no fire and certainly no electricity in the secret hour. They adapted, though. Dean always got the best grades in math of every school, and John suspected he was a polymath.

And one day, Dean crowed “You were gone for 1,029 minutes, Dad!” and John knew that he was right.

When Sam was eight, he said "Stop it!" and covered his ears. John had been reading the paper silently. He didn't know what Sam was talking about until he realized that Sam meant stop thinking.

Sam had heard John thinking about the people he couldn't save on the last hunt, and he couldn’t block it out. He knew about the monsters, but at his age, hearing about their victims was too much.

Sam was a mindcaster, like Mary. John had stopped being surprised, at this point.

It was better this way. They could fight, and help all those people who stayed frozen for that single hour.  
...

  
"It's gonna be fine, Charlie. You're the best freaking polymath we've ever seen," Sam reassures as they drive to Sucrocorp. Dean would be offended if he didn’t believe it himself. This girl was the perfect person to help them kill Dick and the rest of his darkling buddies.  
But first, they had to help her put aside her fears.  
"I should have taken that job at the FBI," Charlie mutters under her breath.

...

  
Sam goes on their first solo hunt a week after they get their acceptance letter to Stanford. They tell themselves that they'll tell John and Dean about it right after they gank the darkling that stole away three children in the past week.

But when midnight rushes in, they find themselves in front of a massive spider with eight glimmering blue eyes. The thing has legs bigger than they are. They have a sliver of a chance of beating it on their own.

They stab it one of its eyes, but it whacks them with its leg, sending them into the shed in somebody's backyard. The steel blade smokes in its face.

They have splinters everywhere and a few cracked ribs, but then they strike gold. They're lucky the owner of the house is a golf enthusiast.

Sam hits the darkling with the steel golf club until it falls down, and then they aim at its face until it stops moving and there's a puddle of blue blood soaking into their boots.

They salt and burn it, so when the sun comes up there will be nothing but a pile of ash. The neighbors will grumble about vandals in unison, and the city will sleep safe and frozen for many midnights to come.

...

Dean has met a lot of people, travelled to dozens of cities and states and met people completely different than him. So he knows that Sam's not crazy for asking him not to use masculine pronouns, for being who they are.

But Dean wishes that they had picked a better time to tell John how they felt than right before they left for Stanford. John's pissed and threatening to cut Sam off completely.

Dean doesn't want to lose them.

...

Computer programming is a breeze. Kevin's mom taught him how to do it when he was 13. Right now, though, he's teaching her: specifically, how to not get them killed. Hey, it's not exactly easy for him, too, but they've been staying in various motels for a month, and Kevin's nervous that the other shoe's going to drop.

But how could it? They've been so careful. He's booking Sam and Dean's motels for them as they get closer to hunts. He uses fake credit cards, fake names, and never calls to tell them about the painful visions he's been getting, though he wants to.

They're your standard grisly-murder visions, the previews of the hunts Sam and Dean will have to go on. Nothing about the word of god, and he doesn't know if that's good or bad.

Their motel rooms are always salted, painted with devil's traps, and every supernatural protection under the sun. They have borax with them at all times, and him and his mom look over everyone carefully, now.

But it seems like, for now, the coast is clear. No darklings or demons, for once.

His mom's been taking care of his finger, and it's not completely healed, but he'll live. He still feels phantom pain sometimes, and it just adds on to the list of things that freak him out.

So he books hotels for the Winchesters and uses fake credit cards to buy the food they need. He's made a program that erases his tracks so they won't get arrested. Darkling food, that's what they'd be in a cell.

He's just killing time, for now.

...

Sam and Dean are asleep, even though it's midnight. They couldn't stay awake any longer; too many coffees and research nights had left them exhausted. So Cas makes sure they're alright before wandering around, to make sure it stays that way. He doesn't want any darklings coming their way.

After an hour he senses a darkling, and tracks it to an abandoned warehouse. He opens the door to find a snake-like darkling weaving itself around a human's legs. The darkling is dark blue and its scales shimmer, but not brighter than its eyes, which are like sapphires. The human is young, maybe seventeen or eighteen, Native American.

She wears boots, jeans, and a red shirt, all worn. She looks like your average high school kid, but right now she's keeping her eyes on a darkling as it hisses slowly and tightens around her legs.

Cas is about to stride over and smite the monster, but then he sees the steel knife in her hand. She brings it up slowly, so it doesn't feel threatened and bite her, and cuts its head off in one swift motion.

She freezes when she sees him. "Hello," she says, because she can't think of anything else. She tries in vain to get the blood flowing in her legs again.

"Are you alright? That one was unusually big," Castiel responds.

"Wha-Do you know where this is?" She asks incredulously, ready to fight if she has to. He evidently knows what darklings are, and it's weird for him to show up...out of the blue. Oh, God, she needs to stop making puns.

"Milan, Missouri," Cas answers. "That's thirteen letters. A very anti-darkling place. Thirteen pointed stars carved on the doors, thirteen beams on the ceiling." He points up. "This building, and the whole city, is full of thirteens to protect against darklings. Probably since the nineteenth century."

"Who are you?" She asks.

"My name is Castiel. I'm a hunter," he says smoothly.

"I'm alright," she says. "Just bruised a bit. Why are you here? I took care of it." Her eyes go to the body on the floor.

"I didn't mean to...intrude." Castiel smiles, tries to show he is not a threat. " I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do. There aren't any more darklings in this area, are there?"

"Not anymore," she says. "It should be safe for a few months. December's close, though. The twelfth is gonna be bad. The twelfth day of the twelfth month. The darklings’ll love it."

She doesn't know why she's telling him all this. Maybe because she's the only hunter in town and she's dreading having to come back when it's cold, and full of darklings yet again.

"We'll be sure to come back, then," Castiel promises.

The girl grins. Finally, some good news. "Thanks."

Castiel smiles again, nodding back slightly, and walks out, leaving her with a body to salt and burn before daylight.

 


	2. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which names are discussed. Shut up, my titles are fab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!

Hail made tiny ticking sounds on the window as Sam dreamt. Midnight was over, and now them and their brother slept in the motel room, the storm casting a gray light as it fought with the rising sun.

In Sam's dream, they were in a memory. It was from a few months ago, when they had stopped in Chicago and Cas was telling them about how important their name was. "S-a-m W-i-n-c-h-e-s-t-e-r makes thirteen letters. That's a very anti-darkling name. You're lucky to have it," he said.

"Then how come I didn't get a thirteen letter name?" Dean asked between his second slice of deep-dish pizza. 

"My real name is Samuel, you know. I don't have one legally," Sam pointed out. 

"But their chosen name is Sam," Cas said. "That's enough for the darklings." He suddenly looked more serious. "No matter how many times the darklings say you're one of them, it's not true. You were always different than them." Sam grinned. "My name is thirteen letters in Enochian," Dean muttered. "Shut up," Sam told him, still grinning.


	3. Sacrifices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! um, warning for misgendering? yeah.

"Mr. Winchester, there are no sunglasses allowed in my class," the teacher says, causing the whole class to look at them.

"I know this is your first day here, and you may be excited to finish your last semester of high school, but you follow my rules while you are in my classroom."

Sam fumbles with their backpack. "I have, ah, photosensitivity-I need them. Here's a note from my doctor."

Forged, of course. But they're mostly telling the truth. Serves the teacher right for calling them "mister".

In midnight, everything freezes-even the beams of light that come to the Earth from the sun. Light still hits the Earth, but not in the places that are in the blue time-when times stops, so does light. Sam's sure that there's some complicated science behind all that, but they can't be bothered to learn it all.

There's enough light to see everything during the blue time, but there is no constant barrage of sunlight bouncing off things and reflecting into their eyes, like there is during the day. It's not a medical reason, per se, but it's reason enough, because it hurts like hell if they take off their sunglasses. It's bearable, of course-once their glasses broke during a hunt and they did nothing but squint and groan at the light during class, but they survived it. Everyone just assumed they had a hangover.

They don't get to see sunrises without the glasses, but it's a small price to pay. Even Dean has to wear sunglasses, though he makes a point of grumbling about them.

"I look like some cop show guy, Sammy."

Speaking of Dean, he's supposed to be in Sam's class this hour-but apparently he's decided to skip it. Hey, it's not like Sam hasn't done that, either. But first days of school are always better when Dean is there. Dean does turn up later, and he meets Sam for lunch, expensive sunglasses on his face. Sam can't see his eyes, but they can see his grin. The sunglasses are relatively new-bought with someone else's credit card, big and flashy and attention-grabbing, just like Dean likes.

Sam's are expensive too, and they remember going into some ridiculous boutique during midnight and taking their pick from the racks of sunglasses while the cashier stood frozen, eyes open. Dean put ones on Sam's face that he thought looked good, until they finally agreed on a pair. And then they just took them and walked off.

Their dad has cheap ones he got from a gas station, but he rarely goes out during the day-anything he needs to see only comes out at night.

In the winter and fall, or when there's a storm, there's so little light that the two of them can take off their glasses. People in the hallways do double takes-Winchesters without sunglasses? A rarity. But it's almost summer now, and Sam will have to finish high school with their eyes covered. They count down the hours till midnight-Dean may be a polymath but Sam can do math well, too-and wait for the time when they can finally be seen.

For that one hour, people will look them in the eyes.

So Dean and Sam, years later-still masters at covering their eyes, still wearing sunglasses-know that Cas needs a pair too. They had thought at first, that since he was an angel, he wouldn't need them. But Jimmy Novak's eyes are limited, though he is long gone, and being in midnight has made Cas sensitive to light, too. Sometimes he would talk to them during the day with his eyes closed, and stay like that for hours. "Creepy," Dean said. "I do not need vision at the moment. Only when hunting," Cas retorted. 

They plan a hunt, but this time, an hour before midnight, Sam hands Cas a pair of sunglasses. He looks briefly confused, but then puts them on. "Thank you," he says. "It does hurt, the sun. I don't know how you've dealt with it for so many years." Sam assumes by "you" he means "humans". 

"Alright, Cas, you look awesome," Dean says. grinning widely at him. "Let's go." Cas takes the glasses off. The three of them won't need them, not at night. They all follow him out to the car. Sam twists their steel bracelets unconsciously. They have so many little things to keep them safe. Dean's amulet is gold-painted steel, and they all have so many weapons and charms and things to protect them. Sunglasses for when the sun rises, and knives for when it's night.

  
They'll be alright.

 


	4. Numerological

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join our heroes and see them fight the logophobic monsters that come at midnight! 
> 
>   "Six is the imperfect number, being one less than seven which is the number of perfection. In the Revelation, the number of the beast is 666, which simply means the very depth of imperfection."
> 
> -An Outline of Christian Symbolism, copyright 1933.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> numerological-pertaining to the study of numbers and their meanings. 13 letters, by the way.
> 
> thank you so very much for reading, and comments and kudos are very much appreciated. The quote in the summary is from an actual book by that same name. I know six isn't a number addressed in the Midnighters series, but two sixes is twelve, and we all know how dangerous a twelve can be, don't we? I could be stretching it, but then again, the numbers are never wrong.
> 
> :)

"Now, please pay attention, because this is one of Milan's most famous philosophers. Born in 1874, Tristan Reid studied numerology, or the study of numbers." The guide pauses to glare warningly at a child about to touch something. "Reid believed that on midnight, evil monsters would freeze the world! Isn't that funny?" The guide laughs, and the children duck-trailing behind their teachers do, too. Sam laughs, too, trying to see past the crowds of kids and bored museum-goers. 

There's a statue of Reid in the new exhibit, opened just in time for 12/12, or as Dean likes to call it, Darkling Day. Every year, this day is full of darklings on midnight, so they always have to be extra careful. Milan Museum is warm because of the snow, and Christmas lights twinkle brightly on every window, but today Sam is nervous.

Cas told them that they needed to be here for a girl, a hunter, though Sam could hardly believe it when Cas described how young she was. Then again, recently they've been seeing younger and younger hunters, like Krissy. Sam doesn't really know how to feel about that, except they do know that Krissy is still in school. Minus the crazy father figure. Last week they visited, and she says she's doing well in Bio, going to take Chem next. 

The guide moves on with the groups of sniffling children, but Sam and Dean stay. They figured the hunter would be here, because why not at the grand opening of a freaking numerology exhibit? Reid was a seer, Sam found out from some online research, despite the blurriness edging around their vision. They're just tired, they tell Dean. That's all.

But then Dean grabs their shoulder, and points. That's got to be her: thick black hair, about Krissy's age, and the familiar bulge of what has to be a knife stuck in her waistband.

Sam checks their phone. It's already nearing midnight. five minutes until this town is in some serious trouble, despite its thirteen-letter name. The girl scans the crowd, and when her eyes land on Cas, she starts walking toward them. "Almost though you wouldn't come," she observes. Cas gives her a small smile. "Maura," she says, holding her hand out to Dean. He shakes it, suppressing a snort at shaking a teenager's hand. 

"Dean. This is Sam, they're my brother, and I hear you've already met Cas." Maura does snort, and Dean can't help but smile back. "Yeah, he popped outta nowhere. Said you guys could help me." 

"Uh, yeah," Dean says. "Always here to help." She hasn't made any noises over Dean stating that Sam was called by they and not he, which Dean is grateful for. Cas nods, and Sam smiles, too. "Alright, then. I know a place. You got a car?" Maura asks. Dean blinks. "Uh, yeah." 

They push their way out from the bright museum and outside, it's already getting dark. Maura raises an eyebrow as Dean unlocks the car. "Nice."

Man, she wishes she had a car like that. But it's not like she knows how to hustle pool or steal credit cards like the few hunters she's met before, and dropping out of high school at seventeen means money isn't easy to come by. Maura's been in Milan for a few weeks now, waitressing at some greasy diner. She lives in hotels because that's all she can afford, wears muddy jeans when she can't scrounge change for laundry, and pretty much walks everywhere, because hitchhiking? Fuck no. Hey, her mom always said she should exercise more. 

And she misses her mom, but her mom is dead and the last time she tried to visit her grave, one of her old neighbors saw her and tried to get the foster care people on her ass again, so. So she lives perpetually on beef jerky and gas station burritos. So what. She'll be eighteen in two months. She can handle a gun better than the sheriff of this stupid town. Maura directs Dean to a small road that leads to a creek, quietly babbling to itself as fireflies break up the pitch black. "This is far enough that there won't be anyone around," she explains. "But close enough to all the big, juicy people that we'll get some darklings," Dean adds. He counts down the seconds in his head. Suddenly, Maura's floating above them, grinning as blue washes over them, freezing the fireflies and every droplet of muddy water in place. Dean grins back at the acrobat. Her eyes are green, turned darker from the blanket of dark blue around them. She pulls her knife from her waistband and whispers, "Irrationality." A slither chirps from the trees. Dean hesitates. Yeah, they only have an hour to kill as many darklings as they can, because they'll be swarming here and if they don't die tonight they'll come back another one, but he wonders if Sam can handle fighting, if they're still getting worse. "Do you wanna do it, or can I?" Sam questions.

Cas looks between them. "You want to call them here." 

"Really? I hope you've got more'n just steel, then," Maura says, nudging Dean's shoulder with her foot. 

"Cas is a flame-bringer," Sam says. Her eyes widen.

"Nice."

"Sam?" Castiel asks, and they understand immediately.

"I can taste two. Big, though, and I'm sure they have friends," Sam says, trying to concentrate on the bitter, black taste a few miles away. 

"They can hear us. They don't know," Sam pauses, "Who we are."

"Alright, let's get this party started," Dean says. He turns his head up into the cool, motionless air and yells, "Collaborating!" 

A chorus of slithers chirp indignantly at the math. Maura grabs a flying one before it bites her and hits it, blue sparks flashing off where her steel rings meet the skin.

"Entertainment," she calls after it, and it flicks away, chirping sharply. 

"Nice one, Supergirl," Dean says with a laugh. 

"Intersections," Sam yells, and feels the responding rage from the darklings. "They're coming," they warn, but don't stop smiling.

"Jesus, Sam, that one barely counts. Plurals don't count in Scrabble, anyway."

Sam rolls their eyes. "Well excuse me, we're not all fucking polymaths, Dean. And this isn't Scrabble."

"Do you know how many thirteen-letter words there are, because I do-" Dean is cut off when Castiel tilts his head up and yells, "Infuriatingly," to the sky, his rough voice surprisingly loud in the quiet. He looks pointedly at the two.

Maura giggles.

"Bitch," Dean mutters, but he's grinning, and so is Sam. "Jerk," Sam replies, shaking a slither off their boots. They're pretty sure it was trying to eat the laces.

They try to one-up each other, trying to get a rise out of the darklings in English and Spanish and even Enochian, in Cas' case.

Their math bounces off frozen rocks and finds the monsters, but thirty minutes in and nothing's tried to kill them yet. Sam can taste them, but they almost seem uncertain, never getting too close to them.

"Come on, man!" Maura yells. "Free food! Uh-dammit, what's a thirteeen letter for 'please come out so I can kill you in time for Godzilla Final Wars'?"

"Aw, Supergirl, you've got great taste in fine cinema," Dean pauses to glare at Sam, who's rolling their eyes. "Unlike Sam. But I forgot my dictionary."

But then Sam pauses, looking confused. "They're gone."

"What?" Cas says. "Maybe they just want you to think that. Are you sure-"

"I can't taste any darklings," Sam says. "I think," they say carefully, "We actually scared them off."

Dean looks at them incredulously. "You're kidding."

Sam shakes their head.

"Ha!" Maura crows. "Didn't even have to use Irrationality. They're getting dumber."

She floats gleefully until the blue sucks out of the sky in one fluid motion, and she finds herself on the ground. 

"Ow."

The background noise of crickets and running water resumes, as nothing happened.

They all climb into the car, and Dean decides, fuck it, they're bringing Maura to the hotel to watch Final Wars. 

"We'll stay for a few days to make sure the darklings don't come back," Cas says.

"Thanks," Maura says. "Really." 

Cas smiles, warmheartedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus mini-soundtrack!
> 
> My Violent Heart-Nine Inch Nails  
> The Four of Us Are Dying-Nine Inch Nails  
> Hyperpower!-Nine Inch Nails
> 
> oh wow, can you tell I like Nine Inch Nails? I hope these songs evoke the dark blue of midnight. Or just really pump you up. Either one.


End file.
